To most, the idea of being reincarnated into another world was a mere fantasy.
But to you...
It was reality.
Your name is John Doe, and a few months ago you got hit by a truck. After your death you met Herta, the beautiful (and perverted) Goddess of Artifice. She told you that you needed to pick a cheat skill before she could send you to one of the many generic isekai worlds available.
"Because that's heavenly policy!" She'd said.
But instead of picking between those boring options, you took the Goddess Herself and brought her with you to a world of her own creation.
This universe of hers was slapped together with 'tags' and generic fantasy themes. Some might scoff at the abundance of stale tropes and cliched genres, but things were just the way you liked them.
Well, you were still getting used to the unfamiliar logic and morality of this brave new world. Beyond being mere ideas that were held by people, these conceits extended deep into cultural thought, sculpting history and even shaping the laws of physics.
But that wasn't all this universe had in store: Soldiers, airships, mechs, clockwork robots, walking artillery units, all of these and more marched from their homeland's borders to fight in a neverending skirmish against their enemies.
Yet these modern conflicts were petty when compared to the Demon Lord's invasion. So great was that war, that the scars from that era lingered like a thorn on the side. Corruption magic threatened to destroy everything if not purged whenever it was found, despite it being many millennia since the demons were vanquished. This evil magic will grow and fester if no precautions were taken. Thankfully there were many organizations in the world that dealt with these sorts of things.
Today, gold poured from the coffers of nations as everyone clamored to get a slice of the goods and weapons available. In spite of the constant wars and battles, commerce flowed through the planet, giving and taking away fortunes in an instant.
These realities gave testament to some of this universe's priorities - war, trade, and steampunk tech.
And that didn't even mention what is blatantly the most important of this universe's conceits: Slavery. It was a fact of life. Everyone you'd met in this world approved of it and spoke about it like it was the most common thing in the world. Which, in this world's context, made perfect sense.
As Freeborn Men are people, thus women and the lower classes are considered property. Although one could argue that slavery in this world was not the same type of chattel slavery that might pop into your mind whenever someone in your old world mentioned the word 'slave'. Providing evidence to support that theory, the Bondage Accords, which are a sort of international agreement most nations adhered to, granted certain protections to the enslaved despite their legal status as objects.
Your name is Johan. And you have been a taxi driver for as long as you can remember.
Which is about less than a month, give or take. You are not truly certain anymore, as time had begun to behave erratically, quickening and stopping at whim -- the sight of strange shadows worsening these effects.
But that was neither here nor there, though one could argue that it was something that affected you recently.
Two people were standing before you: The first, her skin unnaturally pale from makeup, had an impish spark in her eyes. A mime and a seeker of thrills, <span class="mu-r">just like you were</span> - Mimi. The second was someone whom you could only describe as a jock and a gym rat. Like you, he was <span class="mu-g">beset and obsessed by the mystical</span> - Jeremy.
Yes, you remembered now. You were talking with these two fellows about meeting an <span class="mu-s">old friend</span>. He made an arm spring out of the television recently. You remember that-
<span class="mu-r">You used to love going on nature trails with all your friends. All</span> <span class="mu-s">seven</span> <span class="mu-r">of them.</span>
<span class="mu-g">You recall, when you were young, your parents would take you out to the forest every summer. And you would journey out into the wilderness, looking for something, anything, that remained unexplored.
There was a squalid passage, beyond a gate in decay, that led to a small grotto. You left the town's chaos then and there.</span>
<span class="mu-b">But you never found a path that wasn't tread before.</span>
You frown at the thought. Another wandering memory. One of many. Though this one felt melancholy.
You couldn't say how true or false it was, or how innocuous they were. Last time you'd entertained a memories, death almost took you by the neck. But was it truly the fault of the people here? Perhaps another wandering shadow took the moment for itself, and laid claim upon your life. Or attempted to, at least. Perhaps it was someone else, the evidence was muddled but extant, you felt.
<span class="mu-b">Alas that it might have appeared from the outside perspective that, as you were twisting and turning in your sleep, you'd almost strangled yourself with your blankets.</span> A perfect accident.
But not one you nor your closest companions believed.
You knew of many shadows. You had seen them, shifting and sinewy, attack you and reveal wound an essence deeper than any feeling. Not to mention the physical injury, which was cured overnight for some unexplained reason. Yet you suspected a <span class="mu-g">dream</span> had something to do with it.
But none of the aggressive shadows, which Jeremy claimed to be mara, had made attempts at your life while you were unconscious. They tried to kill you -- that went without saying -- but you felt that none had yet attempted to kill you as you entered another realm as you slept.
Your name is <span class="mu-s">Vincent Cruz.</span> You work in a shady government-backed facility in the middle of the New Mexico desert. By all accounts, you are still a complete and total nobody.
You've spent the last five days struggling to survive in this new world. Your new job now involves studying and researching various anomalous entities in order to make money for the Abnormality Regulation Coalition (also known as ARC).
Somehow you've managed to do a good job over the last five days, despite having no formal experience being a researcher. It's been a struggle to get adjusted to everything but you're shocked at how good of a job you've been doing.
You suppose it's not your first time dealing with anomalous entities. You have vague memories of this chained, bleeding <span class="mu-r">heart</span> that you encountered in the past. You don't know why but you feel like that thing is watching you. You're not sure why it's so interested in you, you're a nobody after all.
Maybe that's part of the reason ARC dragged you off the streets? Who knows. Nothing about your new job makes that much sense.
As for a recap of what happened, you just finished your latest shift. You had to fight for your life against a heavily armed man who wanted you dead. You managed to beat him thanks to sheer dumb luck and in the process, you're earnt the mild respect of some of your coworkers. The rest of the day went over pretty smoothly, all things considered.
You also met two new weirdos, Moxxie and Edward, who might be trustworthy enough to hire in the future. You need as many friends as you can in a place like this. Even if most of the 'friends' you have here are way too weird for your liking.
You owe Colt a favor now after you got him drunk because of an experiment. You need to find a way to get some rifle ammo for his gun. That'll be a headache to deal with but you do owe it to him.
You're now ready to start another day. To face the music, to endure whatever ARC throws your way. All you can really do is to find a way to keep surviving. Day after day, week after week, month after month. This is your new life now, whether you like it or not.
Oh well. You're a <span class="mu-s">wageslave</span>, all you really know at this point is work. You might as well do a good job while you're stuck here, right? There's not really any other path for a husk like you. Haaa.
It’s a dark, almost pitch black night on the campus. Lazari could effortlessly light things up or give herself night vision, but doing so would take away the night out experience. She disliked how so many tried to find ‘solutions’ to things in life that did not need to be fixed. This night was perfectly fine the way it was, although it could use a bit more wind.
She takes off her shoes, letting her feet rest on the fresh grass. Thankfully, most of the lawn recovered from the dragon incident, the last thing she would’ve wanted was to revitalize every bit of grass to make it look uniform again—wouldn’t have been the first time. She stretches
Before she can go on her usual jog, she hears low mumbling from above. She looks up at the school building, until her gaze stops at a bird-like figure resting near the edge of the rooftop. It’s not uncommon for students to hang up there past midnight, but it’s not encouraged for a variety of safety reasons.
Climbing up there would be a piece of cake with magic, but it presents a fun challenge to climb as fast as possible, only relying on her body. One jump, put one foot on a window’s ledge, two jumps, make sure to avoid putting too much strength behind each step, three jumps, grab the edge with your left hand, lift yourself upward and-
There.
Not her best time, but having to climb up silently slowed her down. The student didn’t notice her despite lazari’s imposing figure. She made sure to mask her breathing and mana so that she could slip effortlessly past her in both sight and sound. Lazari taps her shoulder, and the student, who could now be identified as Fet, flinched with a short, high-pitched scream.
There is an awkward silence, followed by unnecessary apologies from the student.
Lazari shrugs, “You can stay here if you want, just don’t go practicing spells at this time of night. I’m glad it’s not some students doing something weird up there again.”
“..Um, ‘again’? How often does that ev- even happen?” Fet’s voice was stuttery, but her voice is less shaky than the last time the two of them spoke.
“You don’t want to know. Nor do you want to know what I mean by ‘weird’. I’ve considered not teaching some spells just because of what I’ve seen people do with ‘em before.” Lazari tries to contain her laughter. “What are you doing at this time, lassie?”
Fet averts her gaze, opting to look at the stars instead. “Thinking about things. I can think more clearly when I’m out- outside, but not when people are around.” Her speech was slower, perhaps as an attempt to control her stuttering.
Your name is (write in), and at only 25 years old you are the best and highest-paid football player in the world. There’s still a long road ahead before you’re widely considered the GOAT, but deep down that’s already your reality — just another fact. With your recent achievement of a fifth ring and another MVP, even the most stubborn critics accept that, at your current pace, your coronation is inevitable. Your idol Tom Brady can only watch as you reach his numbers at lightning speed. He respects you, admires you, and says that in five years there won’t be any serious debate left — you’ll be crowned while still in your prime. Your impact on football is something incredibly rare in the world of sports. Hopefully nothing bad happens to you before that.
…
Taiwman, late February.
You’ve been celebrating the championship for days in a nonstop party. You landed your private jet here, loaded with rich friends and wild girls, so you can all enjoy the new futuristic district filled with robots, super-drugs, and flying cars.
Your best friend is:
>Raptor, a punk pornstar with a split tongue and a very intense palate. She loves vampires and knows everything about dinosaurs. >Fugaku, a professional ping-pong player who also carves swords into bamboo for fun. >Alexey, a blind Russian singer who jokes about how easy life would be if he had telekinetic powers. >Julian, a Mexican running back who loves insects.
You’re invited to the magnetic bullet train — the kind where passengers can’t feel any acceleration — by a cute Chinese girl,
>Zhang, who has a dragon tattoo on her back >Mei Mei, who has a demon tattoo between her breasts >Khadija, who has no tattoos and wears a hijab and in a sudden wave of horniness, you rent the entire train to throw a party with all your tourist friends.
Your phone rings. It’s Tom Brady himself, calling your personal number!
Your nap is a fitful, restless thing, filled with nightmares and feverish dreams that you lose memory of quickly even though they trouble you greatly and prevent you from waking up energized and bright eyed. When you do wake up, your elder sister is sitting over you with a warm smile on her ghostly, frost flecked fur. And for a moment you wonder how much of your recent memories were a dream, before sensing withing yourself the power and technique that proves that most of them were in fact real.
"Did the spiders enjoy my bouquet of bone and meat?" You ask tiredly, fluttering your eyes as you sit up and lazily lick the back of your paw as you sister, who isn't shy about showing her distaste for your method of bribery and payment clicks her teeth and whines irritatedly
"Oh they were overjoyed by the delicacy of your flesh sister, and after I managed to convince them to try your...fruit, they found it most pleasing to their monstrous palate. In fact, they found it so tasty and spiritually rich and potent, they nearly abstained from eating your guts and limbs entirely" She told you, grimacing as she looked away "Did..did you have to slice of your breasts along with your thighs"
"Fatty meat is the most succulent and delectable" You answered with a sneer "Besides, both grew back as readily as any other part of me I cut off. It was the arms and legs that took the most energy and effort to sprout again"
"I really hope you aren't becoming like that mushroom girl or her family. You're a cat, not a rose bush" Xuebai hissed and you laughed
"I am Huanliuxue and I can be whatever I choose or aspire to be!" You declare loudly "But I'm glad the spider demons accepted my payment and..."
"They've given you an extra visits worth of protection, they were so pleased. Though, the way they devoured the fruits to their pits, makes me worry they might try and plant you in their garden as a permanent guest" She cuts you off, eyes sharp and icy
"Well, at least they're right minded enough to know to properly admired and nurture one as magnificent and beautiful as I" You brush off that actually somewhat disturbing thought of being potted like an orchid flower "And what generosity to extend the warranty of this red string wrapped tightly around my finger"
"They're making cat meat preserved in bloody wine in that manor over the refuse pit they live in"
"Must be a lovely vintage, always wondered how I'd taste pickled" You snicker, delighting in the sickened and nauseas look that crosses over your sisters face "Oh lighten up, I'd pay them in kind and eat them if I had the chance"
The president put on the ceremonial gowns, now knowing the terrible conventions of society. A forbidden fruit, offered to her by subordinates and friends, that which they all deemed an essential part of youth; the what to say, the what not to say; the great secrets of seduction; the three gazes of the man-eating leopard; “The height of skirt that melts the inexperienced virgin”. And she endured it all, like a woman. She endured to have them play with her, as if a rag or some mauled doll; only by the time they began to imply that the size of a bag was perspectively proportional to the osseous width of her body, she had already ran out of patience. And with the skirt, and the blouse, the inconspicuous accessory and the invincible bow of black hair, victory was served with imminence, and tremendous prematurity.
As the lead of the Paranormal Investigation Club, she was in labour of solving mysteries in the company of her most trusted. Who hasn’t heard yet about the rapist of human souls, the phantom on the staircase, or the not single instance when the devil went and took the farmer's cows for a dance? After that, and many other adventures together; seemingly united, in their hearts she earned a deep place with her pure merit. And this time it was their turn to prepare her with the ubiquitous knowledge, to face the unknown, and perhaps even… to scare her fears. Trembled the world when the day came,
Surely, long had spilled been the tea; and yet, in shame, a single drop lied and dared not to be spit. She, and she alone knew; thoughtless, truly thoughtless the compromise had been conceived. Upon their first and only conversation she was met with a sudden and unknown boiling emotion. She couldn't admit; the temptation was too much to bear. From the pure desire to partake in that which impossible is, agreed they to meet the next Sunday, despite knowing her she lived in the neighboring city. And even then, prepared and committed, without respect for distance, without fear, she departed on the afternoon, towards a station lost in time, lost from reason, all so she could ever meet with him... the next morning.
- <span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">The Hairy Hand</span> is a quest ruled by contradiction of wills and whims The President has towards all gruesome realities awaiting. Survival is doubtful, and physical integrity is never assured; bad decisions are ultimate.
Players can cumulatively pick a maximum of 3 choices, once 3 different courses of action are picked, no alternatives can be proposed nor votes. Actions are taken upon popular vote, effected at irregular, arbitrary and unforgiving times. Small and menial actions may be taken by individuals at times; affecting or not the outcome of an encounter. The whims of a few may just suffice to change The President's fate. </span>
Rain filters in through the ceiling, sliding along the support beams in just such a way it misses the numerous pots, pans, and cups scattered around the delipidated apartment and is readily sucked into the mouldy carpet. Which is then again immediately transferred to a new object: your sock. Your very next steps now all dotted with a wet squelch.
"Argh!" You cry, as you balance on one foot to pull the sock of the other, only for said wet sock to cozy up to the business end of the cigarette you had tucked between two fingers, providing a new, enticing after-taste to the familiar menthol as you unknowingly take a drag. "Huurhg!"
It might've been a week or so since you had washed that sock.
How had it come to this?
Well, the demon king lost against The Seven Braves. A poor title for a bunch of delinquents that jumped a guy seven to one. They murdered their way deep into the demon capital, defeated all the bureaucrats present, and killed the ministers while shouting inane things like "Die Heavenly Generals!"
They hadn't been generals and they certainly hadn't been heavenly.
They were butchered all the same and all branches of government were eradicated over the span of a few days. After performing what amounts to genocide, the "Saintes" had the gall to clasp her still-bloody hands together, bat her eyelashes, and say things like "No, we can't kill them all, that would make us just like them!"
And so the remaining demons, conveniently all of middle-rank and lower, were accepted as refugees into human society. What's that? You want to stay here in the demon lands? I see. Hmm? That demon from earlier? Oh, they fell into the river. Yes, lost all their limbs along the way. Wild, isn't it? Anyway, safety and a bright future awaits you in the human nation of Lightsong!
A few decades have passed since then, demons were by and large limited to awful jobs that made little to no money. The timing of the demons' arrival had been amazingly convenient, just as human society was entering an industrial golden age that required a massive labour force. Truly, the stars aligned for humanity.
The era of sword, shield, and spell has long since passed into history. Few still practice the ancient, magical arts, but demand has somewhat diminished now that you can barely chant out the first seven incantations of a spell before a newly arrived bullet in the brain informs you that you shouldn't bother with final three.
